The fight on the wall walk boiled like a cauldron over a hot flame as Milli's garrison made a desperate effort to repulse their attackers. Another ladder smashed into the ditch but two more went up in its place. William was aware of Jean fighting doggedly at his right, and his standard-bearer Mallard to his left. "Marshal!" roared Mallard at regular intervals. "God aid the Marshal!"
The cry drew a breathless chuckle from William as he realised Milli's constable Guillaume de Monceaux had arrived on the battlements to fight beside his men. God could not have aided him any better.
"Marshal!" William bellowed to Mallard and sprang upon Milli's constable with all the vigour and determination of a young knight with a reputation to carve, rather than the experienced veteran he was. Monceaux's gaze widened in shock. He flung up his shield, but William swept it aside as if swatting a fly off his dinner, and brought his sword down on the constable's helm with the full strength of his right arm. Finest steel of Cologne, the blade hewed through the helm and arming cap and opened a gash in Monceaux's scalp. The shock of the blow dropped the constable like a stone at William's feet. William snatched the sword from Monceaux's hand and sat on him to make sure he stayed down. Besides, William needed a respite after the fierce exertion of his ladder climb and frantic battle on the wall.
The fight raged around them as the defenders strove to reach and rescue their castellan, but Jean, Mallard, and the Marshal knights, aided by the Flemings, kept them at bay, until the defenders realised their defeat and began throwing down their weapons and crying surrender. Mallard waved William's standard triumphantly aloft and further along the wall the leopards of England replied.
De Monceaux was beginning to turn purple. Easing to his feet, William stood back, but kept his sword levelled at his captive's throat.
"God's bollocks, Marshal, what in the name of all that's holy did you think you were doing?" The voice was deep with a harsh metallic timbre sharpening the edge.
"Sire?" William turned, bowed, then looked questioningly at his King. Richard's complexion was scarlet beneath his helm; runnels of sweat streaked his face. His grey-blue eyes were ablaze with battle fire and as always with Richard the line between laughter and rage was so fine it was difficult to tell which side of it he stood. Behind him, his mercenary captain Mercadier was watching the exchange and smothering a grin behind his mailed fist.
"You're a commander, not a young glory-hunter. Why didn't you stay back and leave the heroics to youths like these?" He made a peremptory gesture towards a gasping Jean D'Earley, who was cleaning his sword blade on the surcoat of a fallen defender.
William's shoulders stiffened with affront. "Sire, the assault was failing. I took a commander's decision and acted. You have your castle and the surrender of its constable." He forbore to add that the King was a fine one to talk. Richard's penchant for leading from the front was legendary. "I am not so far into my dotage that my will outstrips my strength."
Richard grunted. His gaze flickered to the castellan whose windpipe remained mere inches from the steady point of William's sword. "I saw you sitting on him," he said and his narrow mouth suddenly twitched. "That either means you were keen to make sure no one else took him for ransom, or you were too exhausted to stay on your feet."
"Or that I was rendering him hors de combat." William retorted calmly. "A good commander is capable of doing more than one thing at a time."
Richard yielded his irritation to an open grin. "I cannot argue with that, Marshal. For what you've accomplished I would let you have this one's ransom even if he was worth ten times the sum you'll get for him. Nevertheless, I value your counsel too much to enjoy seeing you take such risks. Your wife is too young to be a widow and your sons too small to lack a father. If anything happened to you, I'd never hear the end of it. The Countess has an Irish temper."
It was William's turn to grin. "Isabelle is as sweet as honey if you know how to handle her."
"And, like my mother, she stings like a bee when provoked," Richard retorted and, chuckling, moved on. Arms folded, Mercadier started to follow him, then paused in front of William, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement.
"When he saw you running up that ladder, he was fit to burst," he said in a low voice, glancing to make sure Richard was out of earshot. "If he's annoyed with you it's because he saw de la Bruiere dancing on the pick too and would have gone to his aid had you not beaten him to it. We had to pull him back—we couldn't risk both of you on the same ladder. The moment he saw you gain the wall walk there was no stopping him."